


Lost Raven

by Aly_H



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish Lore, Dalish headcanons, Dirthamen - Freeform, Gen, Inquisitor's backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 15:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14084160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aly_H/pseuds/Aly_H
Summary: Just a quick scene of Hal’s days long before he came to be at the Conclave or with the Inquisition. I’m figuring that he’s probably 19-20 in this scene, so he’s not been away from his Clan for very long.Very heavy on my personal Dalish HC’s.





	Lost Raven

“Didn’t your Ma tell you not to come here?” the fortune teller asked without looking up, he had an easy smile as he waited in the shade of his little awning for someone to pass by and take an interest in his cards.

“Ma said you was Dalish and going to steal children away to live in the woods forever,” she informed him, tugging at one of her corn yellow braids. “Grandpapa said that was silly – no real Dalish lives in the city like you do or is as silly – but he used a different word.”

His expression stilled for a moment, his hands pausing fractionally before he returned to shuffling the deck.

“I used to be Dalish,” he said at last, his hands beginning to move again.

The elf-child frowned at him – alienage brats were sharp, most had quick fingers and nearly all of them could spot a lie at twenty paces. She could tell that wasn’t the full truth and she was going to pout at him until he explained. Creators, children were all the same no matter where they grew up or what their kind was.

“I _am_ Dalish, but I have been away from my home for a long time,” he corrected himself, grinning to the girl. Anna had shown up the first day he’d arrived in the market just outside the Ostwick alienage. “I won’t steal anyone to live in the woods, I promise.”

“How come Mama knew you was Dalish?”

“My _vallaslin_ ,” he smiled, touching his face where the lines of his tattoo crossed his cheek. “That’s what these mean.”

“Oooh,” she nodded sagely, “I’ve seen dwarves with vallah-vall….those.”

He chuckled, “Not exactly. Dwarves wear those to show that they don’t belong to Orzammar – their homeland – anymore, it’s not always their choice to have them. Dalish choose to have ours, part of our growing up. They represent our loyalty to our gods.”

“Like Andraste?”

“Sort of,” he grinned. “We call them the Creators.”

She frowned, “So, is what Mother Jacqueline says in the Chant wrong?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “That’s not how the religion stuff works…you’ll get it when you’re older, maybe.”

“…do you?”

“…not really,” he grinned. “Are you implying I’m _old_?”

“Yup.”

“Ach, she wounds me,” he placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Go on, your Ma really _will_ wound me if she catches you here again. I’ve been warned not to fill your head with any more fanciful stories.”

He’d given an account of the Hero of Ferelden, there weren’t many elvish heroes who met with Andrastian approval. The Warden Surana was the only one he could think of who was also a mage – and given how Antivan the stories of Garahel were he wasn’t going to be the one repeating them where young ears could hear.

Still, strange Dalish wanderers who did card tricks and read fortunes in cards were not what respectable mothers wanted their children pestering for stories of life outside the alienage.

With her scampering off to play with the other youngsters he settled to watch and listen. There was little else he could do, and for the moment he was content to play the part he was presenting. Soon he’d change roles – mercenary, this time if he found a company amenable to protecting its mage.

Poor pay, he was an elf and most mercs knew that a Dalish elf away from their Clan was there because they’d gotten exiled, and he couldn’t correct that misunderstanding.

Turning his wrist he looked at the carved raven, the words of an ancient story, only half remembered whispering from his memory:

‘ _You are lost and soon you will fade,’ spoke Fear and twinned Deceit swore, ‘You have been abandoned. He loves you no longer.’ Falondin’s reflection bade them to be silent, speaking the words: ‘I am not lost, I am not abandoned.’ And so he bade them to carry him to where Dirthamen’s shadow lay.’_

Keeper Deshanna had pressed the carved raven into his hand as she stood on tip toe to kiss his brow.

“A guide to return you to the people,” she had told him in the dark of the night when he slipped away as tradition demanded of his new role, his brother’s green eyes watching him in silence from behind her. “And a reminder that as you walk the lonelier paths you are never truly lost and nor are you abandoned by the People.”

He’d been glad for the darkness that lay around his departure, he couldn’t worry them with the few escaped tears that had run hot down his cheeks if they could not see them in the shadow of his hood.

The baker from down the street whose grandmother was Rivaini and who was fretting over his daughter’s upcoming nuptials was approaching – doubtless to consult with the cards. He never paid in coin but Hal wasn’t one to turn down the food that was brought in exchange instead.

Memories of his Clan and the reminder of his duty to them could wait until after he’d had breakfast.


End file.
